


The Mischievous Mind of Andraste's Chosen

by salishseaselkie



Series: Of Lambs and Lions [6]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Desk Sex, F/M, Shirtless, The Little Library Under the Main Hall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 13:41:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5745949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salishseaselkie/pseuds/salishseaselkie





	The Mischievous Mind of Andraste's Chosen

Niamh watched longingly as Cullen stripped off his cloak and vest to enter the ring with one of his recruits. He pulled off his armor, piece by piece, and she was nearly coming to pieces herself as she sat on the steps of the main hall.

She watched him pick up the practice sword, light wood, easy to maneuver, and he swung it around, his wrist loose and deft. She observed studiously - only she was no pupil of combat today. She watched for the small tug of his lips as he smirked at the inferiority of the recruit’s skills,the crinkling snarl of his nose as he struck a killing blow, and the pull of his stern eyebrows as he lectured the youngster on proper posture of a swordsman.

The recruit was instructed to ready herself again, and Niamh pouted as Cullen caught sight of her. He smiled and shook his head. She laughed loudly, with the echoing clarity of Chantry bells. The way he fought as the recruit attacked him now indicated that his mind was where hers was: in the closest dark corner, where need and lust would be soaked, where his sweat would mingle with hers, and where no one could hear them calling the other's glittering ecstasy from the relatively paltry trappings of their bodies.

The recruit cried out as Cullen slapped his blade across the back of her thighs, and the poor girl fell into the dust with an unceremonious thud. He barked, “Take your sparring partner and run through that again until you get it right!” He turned to address the others. “As for the rest of you, take what you have learned here and commit to memory. I expect your performances drastically improved in a fortnight, or you can expect that you’ll be foraging the hills for elfroot for _another_ fortnight to restock our supplies. Is that understood?” The murmur of begrudging affirmatives responded.

Niamh grinned as Cullen locked eyes with her, his brow damp with hard work and his mouth tight, as if holding back his relief that the day was done, that he’d get to return to her. He put the practice sword back in the barrel and picked up his things, bundling them up in his arms. The thud of his boots on the earth turned into slaps on the stone stairs and Niamh stood as he approached.

His hair was curling in unruly springs; she hated to point it out to him, but she loved it when his hair rebelled against his will. She ran a hand through it, and it was damp with sweat. She laughed; he narrowed his eyes at her. He grumbled, “What?” She laughed as she looped a finger through a curl coming down on his brow.

She leaned in, standing on the tips of her toes, and kissed his nose. “I think they work _you_ harder than you work _them_ , love.” He smiled, and because his arms were full of fur and metal and cloth, he jerked his head towards her balcony.

He suggested, “Let’s take this somewhere where prying eyes are not going to…interrupt us.” His eyes took on a softer light, and the commander faded to let the lover take over. Niamh pursed her lips, mischief on her mind as it twisted into a small smile.

She took his elbow as they ascended the stairs, completely intent on retiring to her quarters. Then one of Cullen's scouts intercepted them at the entrance. Niamh scowled at the interruption. She heard Cullen mutter bitterly, “ _So much for avoiding interruptions…_ ”

The man – and in fact, the same which had interrupted their kiss on the battlements – stuttered out, “M-my Lady, Sister Nightingale has insisted you both report to the War Room.” He gave a nervous look to Cullen, whose brow was cutting through his facial expression murderously. “S-she said immediately,” and he took off right afterwards.

Cullen scoffed. “Tsh. _Coward_.” Niamh squeezed his arm lightly, urging him towards the War Room.

She scolded playfully, “Come on, Cullen; you heard him. Let’s go.” As he proceeded up the stairs, Niamh caught a glance of his rear end and felt a familiar rush of blood to her ears and …other places. She bit her lip as she glanced up at him to ensure his attention was succinctly diverted. As they passed a pair of Orlesian envoys, she casually reached forward and pinched where his trousers curved over the muscle. He yelped, leaping in surprise, and looked back at her, amber eyes wide with shock. The envoys, taken with the scene unfolding before them, giggled and turned to each other to comment on the scandalous nature of their behavior.

A smirk broke loose over Cullen’s face, despite his verbal reprimand. “ _Niamh._ ” She grinned. His eyes dilated as he shifted his bundle over to one arm. He gestured for her to walk ahead of him, eyes narrowing, mouth thinning into a smirk. “After you, _Inquisitor_.” As she walked ahead, she felt his hand slap her bottom. She squeaked and looked behind her to see his capricious eyes were dark and his smile was borderline wicked. She felt a hitch in her lower abdomen as heat suddenly flooded her senses. The Orlesians twittered even more earnestly, but she did not care. _Let them have something to talk about._

Twisting her look of surprise into a small, sardonic smile, she turned and headed obediently to Josephine’s office. _So this is the game_ , she thought eagerly. She could not wait for what was to come once the candles in the War Room were snuffed out.

* * *

Leliana and Cullen were having a heated debate over the actions they could take over a hostage situation in the Emprise.

Cullen, as usual, was going for a straightforward approach. "A show of force will demonstrate that we are not to be reckoned with. The casualties will be minimal, and we aren’t directly involved with these people to begin with. We are not required to ransom these people, and sending in assassins–”

“Is the best course of action,” Leliana cut in. “Brute force is not going to scare these people. By the time your forces are at the door, they will be gone, and their hostages will be dead. It is not a matter of if these people are important to us. It is the principle, as you said, that we are not to be trifled with. We cannot afford to let them win on any level.” Cullen shook his head.

“I do not want to leave this in the hands of a few spies. We’ve received the scout reports, and they have substantial numbers. Even if we did manage to get our men in, there’s no way we could extricate the hostages without rousing suspicion.” Niamh rubbed her head. She was getting a migraine. Any hope of getting her lover to herself seemed like an impossible objective.

She interjected. “Stop! Please…” She threaded her hand into her hair and rubbed some more. “Let’s send in the assassins, and we will have a regiment of soldiers follow for back-up.” The others nodded in agreement. “Are we finished here?” Josephine set her quill down.

“Yes, _please_. All this dire talk has become so tiresome.” Niamh was the first to reach the door.

She muttered, “Dismissed, then.” She passed through Josephine’s office lazily, stopping to look deep into the embers in her fireplace. The room was growing cold. She shivered. The sun had set long ago. She was so exhausted.

Lips brushed over her brow and strong arms encircled her. She leaned into the embrace. Cullen had long since put his clothes and armor back on, which served to impede her desire for closeness.

His voice was soft when he addressed her. “Are you tired?” She shook her head.

“No. Yes.” Cullen’s fingers stroked the inside of her wrist. There were things she had planned on doing to him, doing _with_ him, but everything weighed so heavily on her. “I…I don’t know.” His eyes were soft like his voice, and his smile was kind. He butted his forehead against her temple.

“We could just go to sleep if you wish to.”

It all would have sounded quite agreeable to her earlier. But as she considered, she realized: she didn’t want to go to sleep. The velvet feel of his voice quivering down her spine and the gentle caress of his callused fingers on her wrist…they _did_  things to her. Her body, which had been dragging through the meeting, was waking up, begging her to take him. Perhaps she had enough energy in her after all.

She looked up, taking in the full force of his eyes: all fire and hunger and sweet longing. A moment passed as she gazed, her lips parted. A beat, and her lips took his, parted only just enough to taste her lingering perfume in the air.

His lips claimed hers in the breadth of a heartbeat. His lips were hard against hers, rough and passionate, wanting, wanting, _wanting_. He pressed her up against the wall, but the giggles that drew closer from the hall announced the fact that they would be alone only a moment longer. They both looked up, and Cullen seemed almost disappointed. Niamh bit her lip. _Now, we can’t have that…_

Before Leliana or Josephine could barge in and ruin the fun, Niamh grasped his hand and dragged him down the nearby flight of stairs. She chuckled, filled with the same girlish mischief she’d been entertaining before the meeting. He followed with a similar haste, though she was not sure he knew where they were going.

In the lower reaches of the hall, she had found a library. After finally claiming it for herself, for weeks she’d dusted and swept and shelved errant tomes left open to fade and crinkle. And still, none came here - the fear of spiders among many had kept them away from the grotesque cobwebs, but Niamh knew enough of spiders to know the webs had long been abandoned. It had since become an escape from the milling and bustling of the keep.

She threw open the door, and as she backed into the hall lined with books, she claimed Cullen’s lips ravenously. She heard the door slam shut, a husky chuckle, and then she was flung against one of the shelves, pinned between leather spines and her lover’s hard, hot body. She shoved his cloak off, slipping her tongue in his mouth to greet his, and she moaned as he ground his hips into hers.

“Oh, _Cullen_.” He shucked his vest and gloves, his mouth trailing down to her neck and sucking noisily. She unfastened his pauldrons and his cuirasse, and neither of them paid any mind as the metal pieces hit the stone floor. His hands came up - _oh_ , his clever hands! - and cupped her breasts, weighing them and squeezing them alternately. She gasped as he took an earlobe between her teeth. “Ah!” He chuckled as he ran down the line of buttons on her jacket, undoing them expertly.

He hummed, “Maker’s Breath, Niamh…” sending shivers down her body. His hands went to her lower back, propping her up, and he walked her to the desk as she tossed her jacket, then stripped off her undershirt. He set her down and coaxed her onto her back to map out her stomach with his tongue. She softly wailed as her body undulated beneath him.

He slipped a hand beneath her breast band and rolled a nipple between his fingers. Niamh cried out again as Cullen claimed it with his teeth to suck and scrape. She grasped the hair of his nape, twisting her fingers in, and murmuring his name. She pushed him up off of her and claimed his lips again as she worked the hem of his shirt over his chest - _clothes_ , there were simply too many articles of clothes, and so little time....so much _need_. She released him with enough time to get the shirt over his head before plying her tongue against his own chest, flicking it over a nipple. He groaned and cupped her neck. She felt his expectant gaze on her and looked up to find it hooded and dark. She grinned and dipped her head to trail kisses along the trail of hair on the midline of his belly, all the while taking to untying the lacing of his trousers. He was hard, hot steel beneath her hands. He was glorious.

She pulled his trousers down around his knees along with his smalls, and she took his delicate head into her mouth. His hips bucked as he gasped and moaned audibly, and his hands fisted into her soft hair, grasping desperately for some semblance of control. She dug her nails into the flesh of his backside as she took in more of him, sucking and licking along his hard ridges. He was salt and skin and musk, and, _oh_ , lovely, _lovely_  sin.

That familiar tone of voice, the one that had reprimanded her after she’d grabbed his arse hours before, alerted her of how close he was. “ _Niamh_.” She drew her mouth over his penis, lingering on the tip with her moistened lips, and looking up at him with intense desire. A brief moment of savage lust passed through Cullen’s eyes as he gazed upon her, and he reached down to heave her back up onto the desk.

He turned her to face away and, with an arm, he braced her to his chest, holding her to him as he dipped his hand beneath the clothes still remaining on her lower body, testing her moist sex. He scraped his teeth against her nape.

“How I want you…” he growled. He drew down her breeches around her thighs and rubbed his erection against her bare skin. She shimmied out of her pants completely, clumsily taking her boots with them, and kicked the pile of clothing aside to open to him. His hand slid back over her hips and into her sex, dipping into her glistening folds to circle around her clit, and she did not hold back her keening wail as he slid into her.

“Ah, _aaah!_ ” She grasped the desk’s cracking edges, pressed her breasts into the dark stained wood beneath her, bracing to match his fury. She reveled in how Cullen stretched her, filled her as he thrust hard into her looking only to slake his need, and how his fingers stroked perfectly against the small nub to slake hers. She came, forcibly and powerfully, and it washed away all reason and sense. His fingers kept stroking as she floated on the vestiges of her first climax, and she came again, harder. She reached up and grasped his hair, and his thrusts became quicker as his head bowed onto her shoulder. His hand left her and dug into the edge of the desk as he drew shallow breaths, frantic breaths.

He choked out, “Love, I…I…” Then he slammed into her, grunting for release, and he came, the one hand gripping, bruising her hips. He rode out the eddies of his orgasm and finally rested his forehead on her shoulder blade, puffing out ragged breaths.

They stayed like that for a time, bent over the cracked desk, and he lay kisses down on her spine. Niamh simpered as he did, eyes closed, drowning in their shared ecstasy.

Her stomach growled ferociously. The kitchens were nearby. and she still felt the slightest twinge of mischief left in her. There was a particular tray of pastries she had her heart set on, the ones made with raspberry jam. The cook would have their heads if he knew they were sneaking treats. All the more delicious. She lifted her head and turned to eye him. He looked back at her, expression satiated and honeyed. She tossed him an impish grin. 

“So…raid the larder?”


End file.
